On the other end of the phone, Zhong Ya said “hello” a few times before Zhu Wenshu finally snapped back to reality.

After a moment, she murmured, “Are there more?”

Zhong Ya: “More what?”

“The photos. Are there more?”

Zhu Wenshu scratched her head. “I think they actually look pretty good.”

Zhong Ya: “……”

“Or how about you hire a photographer to take eight hundred more shots?”

“…No need to spend that kind of money.”

Zhu Wenshu laughed a little. “I’m hanging up. I’m going to call him.”

Zhong Ya hadn’t expected Zhu Wenshu to be this calm. She imagined that if this had happened to her, she probably wouldn’t even be able to hold her phone steady anymore.

“Zhu Wenshu, I finally understand why I could never be with Tom Hiddleston. Truly. I’ve achieved enlightenment.”

“Okay, I’m really hanging up now.”

Zhu Wenshu pulled out her chair and sat down, then called Ling Chen, but no one picked up.

She remembered Ling Chen saying he’d be in the recording studio this afternoon, so she called Ling Xingyan instead.

Within ten minutes, she’d tried him twice, both times getting a busy signal. Figuring he must be the busiest person alive right now, she stopped trying.

She opened WeChat again and looked at the photos her friends had sent her, feeling a bit puzzled.

Ye Shaoxing had been photographed and had managed to sit on the story for several days before it broke. But she and Ling Chen had just had breakfast together that morning — how had it already been exposed by the afternoon?

While thinking this over, Zhu Wenshu opened Weibo.

She didn’t use it much; she’d only registered to follow a few education bloggers, and had since been flooded with marketing accounts.

The moment she refreshed it now, her feed was almost entirely photos of her and Ling Chen.

After scrolling through several posts, Zhu Wenshu finally understood why the news had broken so fast.

It turned out a passerby had photographed them that morning, then posted it to some entertainment forum, and it had immediately been picked up and spread by all sorts of marketing accounts on Weibo.

No wonder there’d been zero buffer time.

Zhu Wenshu pressed her temples and stared at the screen for a long while.

The trending posts were all more or less the same — the media had almost unanimously concluded that the person in the photos was “Classmate Little Silkworm,” with only two or three marketing accounts hedging with a question mark.

No one seemed particularly shocked; the buzz was purely from “Classmate Little Silkworm” showing up in person.

Too bad there wasn’t even a clear shot of her face.

As for the thousands upon thousands of comments, Zhu Wenshu didn’t open a single one.

She didn’t follow the entertainment industry closely, but she understood well enough that the current internet environment would guarantee all kinds of ugly commentary.

What if someone said her back looked unattractive? Best not to go looking for trouble the way Ling Chen did to himself.

Just then, a new WeChat message came in.

[Ling Xingyan]: Teacher Zhu, all three of my phones have been blowing up. I’ll call you back in a bit.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Okay, no rush.

[Ling Xingyan]: Ling Chen’s in the recording studio, he should be out soon. No one can go in while he’s recording.

[Zhu Wenshu]: I understand, it’s fine.

Ling Xingyan didn’t reply again — probably busy. Zhu Wenshu didn’t dwell on it either. She turned off her notification sounds and went to the bathroom to keep doing laundry, leaving her phone buzzing nonstop on the table.

By the time she’d hung up the sheets and duvet cover to dry, less than an hour had passed. Add to that an entire afternoon of rushing around at the airport, and Zhu Wenshu was starting to feel drowsy. She was replying to messages on her phone when she fell asleep mid-reply.

Night fell quietly, the lights of ten thousand households flickering faintly against the curtains.

Zhu Wenshu slept until nearly the top of the hour, but because it wasn’t her usual sleep schedule, her rest was fitful, broken up by several disjointed dreams.

When she was jolted awake by the phone buzzing next to her face, she opened her eyes in a daze, her mind not yet caught up, only aware that her face felt strangely misshapen from being pressed into the pillow.

It took a few seconds to glance at the caller ID. She didn’t sit up, just answered the call lying face-down on the pillow.

“You scared me to death.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. “I scared you?”

Zhu Wenshu rubbed her eyes, her voice unusually soft and syrupy.

“I thought there was an earthquake.”

“……”

The breath Ling Chen had been holding in his throat released. “Were you sleeping?”

“Mm.”

Zhu Wenshu said, “The phone buzzing woke me up.”

After waiting a long while and hearing nothing, Zhu Wenshu sat up and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I called you a dozen times and you didn’t pick up.”

Ling Chen sighed. “I thought you’d gotten scared and were hiding somewhere.”

Zhu Wenshu blinked, taking a good while to process what Ling Chen meant.

“No, how could that be?” She laughed lightly. “I’m not a grade schooler, why would I get scared and hide.”

Hearing how relaxed her tone was, Ling Chen let out a drawn-out “oh.” “But I got scared.”

Zhu Wenshu: “Huh?”

“I just got out of the recording studio, and there was a whole crowd of people outside telling me about this. Your phone wasn’t going through, and I almost—”

He suddenly stopped, sighing and letting out a low laugh.

As if laughing at himself.

“What?” Zhu Wenshu asked. “Say it.”

“It’s nothing.”

Ling Chen’s voice went quiet. “I’m a grown man, it’s a little embarrassing to say.”

“……”

Zhu Wenshu let out a snort of laughter.

Surely he hadn’t nearly cried in a panic.

In the pause, Zhu Wenshu heard a vague background noise on the other end — something about “cabin door” and “seatbelt.”

“Where are you?” Zhu Wenshu frowned. “On a plane?”

“Mm.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Jiang City.”

“Huh?”

Zhu Wenshu tried to recall the itinerary Ling Chen had told her a few days ago — there was no way he was supposed to be coming back today.

“Something urgent?”

“Yeah.”

Ling Chen said offhandedly, “I thought you were scared, so I’m rushing back.”

“……”

Zhu Wenshu found it funny but felt too embarrassed to laugh, so she just tilted her head back and let out a long breath. “That’s not necessary — I was already mentally prepared for this. I really just fell asleep because I was too tired.”

She grabbed her pillow and hugged it to her chest, coaxing softly, “Go do your work. I wasn’t scared.”

“Too late. The cabin door’s closed. Wait for me.”

The boarding announcement chime sounded again. Before hanging up, Ling Chen added, “Never mind, you don’t have to wait up. Go to bed early.”

After the dial tone came through the receiver, Zhu Wenshu still held the phone to her ear, smiling to herself for a good while, the corners of her mouth curved up.

Afterward, she hugged the pillow and rolled around on the bed a few times, tousling her hair into a mess before finally sliding into her slippers and getting up.

The moment she opened her door, the sound of running water in the shared bathroom next door stopped.

Ying Fei walked out looking utterly lifeless, and froze mid-step when she came face to face with Zhu Wenshu.

She looked Zhu Wenshu up and down — messy hair, a red mark on her face, wrinkled clothes.

“You……”

Ying Fei’s expression went blank for a few seconds, as if she’d suddenly figured something out.

Over two hours ago, she too had seen the photos of Ling Chen strolling hand-in-hand with a woman, but at the time she’d been too absorbed in her own emotions to spare a thought for her roommate.

Seeing Zhu Wenshu looking like this now only confirmed her suspicions.

Fellow victims of celebrity heartbreak.

“Ohh.”

Ying Fei reached out toward her. “Let me give you a hug.”

Zhu Wenshu: “?”

She looked at Ying Fei, utterly baffled, not understanding what she meant, only sensing that Ying Fei must have had a rough few days. So she lifted her arms, bewildered. “O-okay, let’s hug.”

“I know you’re not doing well either.”

Ying Fei pulled her into an embrace, patting her back gently. “It’s okay. There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

Zhu Wenshu: “……Huh?”

“Ugh, I never thought the two of us would end up sharing the same fate.” Ying Fei sighed heavily. “Stop thinking about Ling Chen. Move on to the next one.”

“……”

Zhu Wenshu couldn’t follow Ying Fei’s train of thought at all, standing there dazed for a while without understanding. “I’d rather not move on to a next one.”

Ying Fei shook her head, said nothing more, and pulled her by the hand toward the living room.

“You haven’t had dinner yet, have you.” She opened the takeout that had just arrived on the dining table. “I ordered a lot, let’s eat together.”

As it happened, Zhu Wenshu hadn’t eaten dinner either, so she sat down in a daze.

Maybe because everyone was equally miserable, Ying Fei suddenly felt the urge to unload on Zhu Wenshu, and started chattering away as she unpacked the food.

“Actually, this isn’t the first time my idol’s disappointed me.” She said listlessly. “There was Fen Yanze before — even worse than Ye Shaoxing. He announced his relationship on his own birthday. We were like idiots preparing a birthday surprise for him.”

“But then I thought about it — he’s already thirty, so I let it go.”

Ying Fei pulled apart a pair of disposable chopsticks, picked up a piece of beef, then suddenly raised her voice. “But Ye Shaoxing! He’s only twenty-one!”

Zhu Wenshu, who had just taken a bite of potato, nearly choked in fright.

“……Huh?”

“Does he even have a brain?! Twenty-one years old!” Ying Fei’s hand shook around her chopsticks. “Dating during the rising phase of his career — does he really think he’s invincible enough not to care about his fans anymore?!”

“If it weren’t for fans like us pouring money into boosting his sales numbers, would he even be where he is today?!”

“That yogurt he endorses — last time I dropped it on the ground, not even a dog would lick it! And he actually thought his sales came from random passersby buying it?!”

“That’s not even the worst of it — in the two years since his debut, how many songs has he actually released? Every time the studio said there’d be a surprise, we thought it’d be a new song or a new stage performance, and instead it’s another variety show or drama announcement. Does he even know he’s supposed to be an idol?”

Zhu Wenshu listened, stunned, forgetting to chew her potato.

Was the relationship between fans and idols really this complicated?

“And the worst part—”

Snap. Ying Fei actually broke her chopsticks in half. “The Bulgari necklace we gave him, guess what?”

Zhu Wenshu: “What?”

“He gave it to his precious girlfriend!”

Ying Fei said through gritted teeth. “I saw Tian Youqing wearing it in her airport street-style photos a few days ago and thought, what a coincidence, same style — turns out it was literally the exact one we gave him!”

Zhu Wenshu, swept up by the mood, nodded in solidarity and passed Ying Fei a fresh pair of chopsticks.

How could he do that? Even if you’re not a fan — you shouldn’t regift something a friend gave you to someone else, right?

Suddenly, something occurred to her, and she glanced down at her left hand, eyes widening.

Just as Ying Fei was about to take the chopsticks Zhu Wenshu was handing her, she saw her yank her hand back at lightning speed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Zhu Wenshu put her hand under the table, tucking the bracelet Ling Chen had given her into her sleeve.

She remembered him saying it hadn’t cost any money — surely it wasn’t a fan gift too, was it?

Ying Fei didn’t notice, and kept going. “He coaxed us into scrimping and saving to spend money on him for so long, and then turns around and uses our money to support his girlfriend — does he really think we’re just cash cows?!”

“And ever since that video leaked on Monday, he still hasn’t come out to respond, even canceled his scheduled livestream, doesn’t care at all whether his fans live or die!”

“……”

Zhu Wenshu sat there stunned.

Was it really this serious?

“Ugh, forget it.”

Ying Fei closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He’s still young after all, and we’re the ones who voted him into his debut, vote by vote. If he can still turn back from the wrong path, I’ll just quietly stop being a fan.”

Zhu Wenshu scratched her head, not knowing what to say.

“Tell me about you.”

Having vented her frustrations, Ying Fei tilted her chin at Zhu Wenshu. “How are you feeling right now?”

My mood… is actually pretty good.

But looking at Ying Fei’s heartbroken expression, Zhu Wenshu didn’t dare say that.

“I’m feeling a bit conflicted.”

“You’re worried that if Ling Chen goes public, you won’t be able to handle it, right?”

Ying Fei, speaking from experience, was very understanding. “But don’t worry, there’s no way Ling Chen will go public.”

“Huh?”

Zhu Wenshu asked, “Why?”

“Didn’t he build his whole persona on being emotionally cold and detached? He’s gained a huge fanbase off that. Would he really give up that persona?”

Ying Fei scoffed. “If he actually dares to go public, I’ll change my Weibo handle — the one I’ve spent years building a reputation on across the entire internet — to ‘Ling Chen’s Dog.'”

“That’s not necessary, not necessary at all!”

Zhu Wenshu waved her hands repeatedly, about to say something more, when Ying Fei’s phone suddenly rang.

She glanced at the screen, and her expression suddenly froze, the knuckles gripping her phone going white.

“You— hold my hand.” Ying Fei extended a trembling hand toward her, gripping Zhu Wenshu’s hand. “My friend says Ye Shaoxing responded.”

Zhu Wenshu had never cared about Ye Shaoxing, but Ying Fei’s tension was contagious.

She swallowed and stared at Ying Fei’s phone.

Ying Fei took a deep breath, opened Weibo and refreshed. The first post was Ye Shaoxing’s latest.

@YeShaoxingV: Miss Tian and I are just good friends, please don’t overthink this, I’ll always be your star [heart][heart][heart]

Zhu Wenshu, who wasn’t familiar with Ye Shaoxing to begin with, felt nothing particular looking at the post.

Only the hand gripping hers tightened more and more, as if trying to crush her palm.

The next second, Ying Fei shut her eyes tightly and let out a heavy sigh, releasing Zhu Wenshu’s hand at the same time.

There was no emotion left in her eyes — only a vast blankness.

Truthfully, though she’d spent the past few days feeling like a walking corpse, she’d already braced herself mentally.

She’d been waiting for Ye Shaoxing to officially announce the relationship, thinking it would at least give her a clean, decisive pain — a chance to become a bystander from then on.

But she never imagined that, faced with such damning evidence, Ye Shaoxing would flatly deny everything.

It was only in this moment that Ying Fei realized — this was the real fatal blow, gutting her from the inside, the pain making her mind spin with a single thought: over these two years, exactly what kind of scum had she fallen for?

Zhu Wenshu sensed that Ying Fei’s mood was taking a turn for the worse, and quickly said, “Don’t look, don’t look anymore.”

She reached out to take Ying Fei’s phone away, but Ying Fei instinctively tightened her grip. In the tug-of-war, the Weibo feed scrolled down, and both their gazes froze again.

Right below Ye Shaoxing’s clarifying post was a repost from a marketing account — of a Weibo post from Ling Chen.

@LingChen: Yes. I’ve found my Classmate Little Silkworm.

The attached photo was simple: two hands, clasped together, the sleeves matching those in the photo that had broken that morning.